


what a wicked game you play (to make me feel this way)

by fortunatedaughter



Category: Pitch (TV 2016)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-14
Updated: 2016-10-14
Packaged: 2018-08-22 10:08:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8282072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fortunatedaughter/pseuds/fortunatedaughter
Summary: "You're married.""And what --- married people can't have friends?"orthe one where ginny chooses the dress, marries trevor who cheats on her only for ginny to start an affair with mike lawson.





	

**Author's Note:**

> **mikeginsanity:** She chooses the dress, chooses the dance, ends up a baseball WAG to Trevor who cheats on her. Meets Mike at a bar when she's out for a revenge hookup - and it turns into something more.
> 
> also apart of pitching prompts week one!  
>  
> 
> \---- this was originally going to go in my ficlets collection but it was just so damn long i had to give it its own post.

 

The dress feels too tight. 

She feels like she can’t breathe, out of place without the leather of her mitt on her left hand, without the bareness of her legs encased in shorts.

The dress is pretty though — lighting up her bronzed skin and setting off the flecks of gold in her eyes. Her mother was right; pinks were her colour, even though she lived in blacks and shades of grey.

Ginny is about half ready to give up — this was a mistake, this was a bad idea, she’s not meant for this world — before Bobby de Marco comes up to her, smiling and that — that is the end of the beginning.

Her father stops talking to her not soon after the dance. Ginny knew it was coming, that he was going to be pissed at this whole thing… she’d just hoped he would have at least respected her choice.

And it was her choice, wasn’t it? She wanted this, she wanted to be normal and accepted — not that she wa sonly doing it because she didn’t want too loose what fragments were left of her mother? But Ginny can’t think of that; can’t think of the what ifs of her life and what it would turn out to be.

(She could have gone all the way. She could have. She **would** have.)

* * *

Her mother divorces her father three months after the spring dance. They move in with Kevin across town.

She tries to like her step-father. Kevin’s a good man but Will doesn’t like him, still with the loyalty to their father.

Once again Ginny feels torn between the members of her family: her mother and her step-father and the happiness and normalcy they’re promising, and her father and brother and the utter acceptance they’re ensuring. She’s torn and she doesn’t know what to do and she just. — she wishes she had someone to talk too.

The rift grows bigger when Kevin announces a new job in St. Louis. Ginny’s mom assures her two children that the choice is there’s — that they’ll still be loved by her no matter what happens, but she’s moving to St. Louis with her new husband.

(Will chooses their father and it’s the last she sees of him for 4 years.)

* * *

“Do you have any siblings, Ginny?” Caitlin asks, a pleasant smile on her face.

(They always wanna know about the new girl, so much so that nothing’s off limits. Ginny doesn’t know how to tell them she likes her secrets, she likes being a mystery, she likes it that not everyone in life knows everything about her at all times.)

She nods. “A brother.”

“Really?” A little gleam enters Caitlin’s eyes — they’re at that stage where girls choose best friends if they have hot older brothers.

“Yeah I, uh — he lives with my Dad.” Ginny’s teeth tug on her bottom lip. “We don’t see him much.”

* * *

Bill Baker’s death happens on a cold spring day. The man stands up, intending to call his two children and make things right. Maybe they could come to him for a few days this summer — before he keels over.

(The heart attack was a long time coming, the doctor says. Heart disease was beginning to show and it was only a matter of time.)

(Ginny doesn’t know whether to cry or laugh at Bill Baker’s death. Cry because her father is gone and laugh because finally, finally she can stop living with one ghost of her past.)

* * *

She meets Trevor Davis three years after she finishes high school — she’s twenty one and a waitress in St. Louis, with three roommates and a shitty TV. But the rent is cheap and that’s what she needs right now — she can’t afford anything nicer on her salary.

Trevor Davis walks into her diner, ball cap on backwards, laughing with his buddies and all Ginny can think is _oh._

(Her Dad warned her about ballplayers; about their slickness and how the road kills a marriage and it kills a relationship. He spoke with haunted eyes like he knows what he did to his own marriage by being a ballplayer. He warned her never to date a player, not because it was bad form for a female player, but because the hurt she would feel would be unlike anything she’d ever known. But years later, Ginny can’t help but push that thought from her mind. She just wants something of her own, is that too much to ask?)

He’s sweet — a minor league catcher who wants to go to college and get his degree and go places and… she can get behind that. She’s only a high school graduate, sure, but she’s thinking of going to go night school. It’d be easier with someone right beside her to share in the journey.

(When he tells her he’s been scouted and he wants to get married, Ginny is so shocked at the turn of events yes just falls from her mouth without even a thought. She doesn’t have the heart to take it back three days later when she has a panic attack.)

* * *

Their marriage works until it doesn’t.

It’s easy till it’s not.

The honeymoon fades and Trevor starts talking about kids.

(Ginny doesn’t have the heart to say she’s not even sure she wants kids.)

Trevor stops talking about kids and starts losing his edge on the game.

(If sex is rougher that night, she doesn’t say anything, just cries in the shower at the fingerprint bruises on her hips, cries at the fact her nice, perfect, laughing, charming husband is anything but.)

Trevor finds his edge and Ginny realizes, watching from the VIP box, that it should be her on the field — that she made a mistake all those years ago choosing a pretty pink dress.

* * *

Ginny tried to tell him once, that if he just adjusted his batting stance like this and twisted just to the right, his batting average would increase — but.

“I’m the ballplayer, Ginny, you’re the wife. Let’s stick to our roles, alright darlin’?”

* * *

(Nothing hurts more than the smile on his face when he comes after a three game weekend in Miami. Not while she’s alone in their penthouse apartment, cooking for one, wearing clothes worth more than her childhood home.)

(Where did it all go so _wrong_?)

* * *

The lipstick on his collar, the perfume on his shirt — Ginny wanted to ignore it at first. But she couldn’t. She doesn’t wear Chanel Red lipstick; she prefers soft fuchsias and warm pinks that contrast beautifully with her bronzed skin. She doesn’t wear Dior’s Hypnotic Poison perfume. She wears Daisy by Marc Jacobs because the flowery smell always reminds her of summers spent in North Carolina with her dad.

She knows all the signs and yet she can’t bear to say it aloud. (Saying it aloud means it’s **real** and she’s not ready for it to be _real_. So she does what she always does. Plasters on a smile for the world, sits in the VIP box in St. Louis, wears her wedding rings and tries not to think about the black lacy underwear she found stuffed down the side of the couch three weeks ago.)

* * *

Maybe she should have expected this. Maybe she should have expected this, being a WAG. But to expect that reality… Ginny can’t deal with that. She can’t accept that that’s her new reality.

She knows the five stages of mourning. Learnt them off by heart when her Dad died and she was flung head first into a world of confusion and grief and hatred. 

**Denial.** — she’s done that. She spent three weeks convincing herself those underwear were own and that she just forgot about them. She played the perfect WAG wife, bubble headed with nothing but air inbetween her ears. She denied her husband was less than the man she thought he was.

**Depression.** — been there. She spent a week and a half in her closet, silently weeping as she stared at her wedding dress; wondering why the fuck she wasn’t enough.

**Bargaining.** — did that too. She spiced things up. Took a few photos for him while he went out on the road. Gave into phone sex even though she doesn’t like it. She tried to be softer, less awake; like she didn’t know why Trevor’s batting average was so fucking shitty.

**Anger.** — not yet, but soon.

**Acceptance**. — maybe.

* * *

She reaches the rage phase and realizes — accepting what Trevor did isn’t going to happen.

* * *

It starts like this — Evelyn Sanders, noticing Ginny’s less than sunny disposition (the two had met an All-Stars function a few years back, bonded through the notion of being WAGs although, Ginny notes, Blip actually loves his wife. Ginny’s not sure Trevor loves his anymore.) invites her out to San Diego for a few days of sun and good clean fun.

“You could use a break, girl.” SHe says through the phone, laughter of her two children in the background. “We’ll hit the beach, hit a couple of bars — go out with the guys, even! Lord knows you need to run with a crew who can keep up with your fine ass.”

* * *

Ginny knows who he is. She had her poster on her bedroom wall for fucks sake, and despite the time lost, she’d know that profile anywhere. Even under the laughter lines and the frown lines and the sad eyes and the beard — she’d know Mike Lawson.

(Her lips purse and a wave of guilt crashes through her. She used to idolise him, used to let his career stats and batting average drive her to do better, be better, to make it all the way and now look at her.)

But none of it really occurs to Ginny as she slips into the booth in front of Evelyn, forced into his side with a slight grin.

“Mike Lawson, in the flesh.” He shoots her a quizzical look as if he’s not quite used to meeting people like her.

“I had your rookie card when I was a kid.”

A bitter snort. “Way to make me feel old.”

Her eyes trail up and down over the silhouette he cuts — unashamed and unabashed. (If Trevor can fuck 24 year olds with big fake tits, she should be able to fuck dudes till the wee hours of the morning.) “You feel old in that body?”

His lips purse, fighting a smile as he takes a sip of his beer.“Bad knees.”

Ginny shifts, her lips coming up to level with his ear. “Guess I should go easy on you tonight then huh?”

* * *

“Good look for you.” Mike remarks, chin jerking at Ginny where she stands with her messed up hair and bare feet, Ginny stands in the doorway of the bathroom, wearing nothing but Mike Lawson’s Padres shirt — 36 emblazoned proudly on the back. 

“What, this ol’ thing?” (She doesn’t care to analyze the fact she never really wanted to wear Trevor’s number but doesn’t even blink when Mike offers up his shirt.)

The laughter and light and smiling fades from his face, and Ginny feels reality intrude before he even opens his mouth. “We… gotta stop this.”

She looked away. “Don’t.”

“You’re married.” He said forcefully, refusing to let her off the hook.

“And what — married people can’t have friends?”

A part of her wants to say that it’s just sex, that none of it matters because she can possibly guarantee that right now, Trevor’s fucking some other girl in their bed back home. She wants to tell him that her marriage is a shame and none of it matters; but that’s just a little too real for the world they’ve created at his apartment.

* * *

It’s supposed to just be sex. (But of the two weeks she’s spending in San Diego, she spends more time with Mike Lawson, fucking Mike Lawson, than she did with Evelyn like she said she would. But judging by the knowing smile on Evelyn’s lips when Mike and her manage to put on clothes long enough to go to lunch — she doesn’t really mind.)

* * *

“You have calluses.” He mutters one morning, his finger trailing over her palm. Ginny squirms slightly, the action tickling..

“Pitcher’s calluses.” He adds after a moment, as if it’s really only just occurred to him that there’s more to Ginny Davis than first meets the eye.

“Familiar with them, are you?” She raises an eyebrow.

Mike snorts. “A little.”

Ginny nods once. “I _always_ knew that there was more between you and Tommy Miller.”

He doesn’t take the bait. “Ginny.”

“My Dad -” Ginny exhaled roughly. It always hard talking about her father, even though he’d left her behind and even though so much time between then and now. “He was a minor player. Taught me everything I knew. Thought I could even go the distance…”

Mike shifts, glancing down at Ginny’s head on his chest. “You mean —”

She makes a noise of assent.“All the way to the big show. And now look at me.” A snort leaves her lips.  “Married to a cheating asshole and sleeping with the Padres team captain.”

His hand stroking through her hair stills, before his fingertips slip through the strands to massage at her skull. “You deserve better.”

“I deserve what I get.” (She choose the dress, choose the dance and this is what happens to pretty girls with trusting hearts.)

* * *

Ginny Davis nee Baker returns to St. Louis a different woman. Her affair with Mike Lawson was fun, yes, — but short-lived. Despite her comments about her marriage not meaning anything; it means something. She’s not the kind of woman just to walk out on something because it gets a little hard… how would she have survived her father’s pushing all those years?

None of that stops her from calling Mike the first chance she gets when Trevor takes off for a boys night out.

“What are you wearing?” He says by way of greeting and Ginny laughs — when she laughs she forgets her heart aches at having to be so far away from this man.

Ginny snorts, leaning a hip against the kitchen counter. “I’m not having phone sex.”

“Interesting — found a kink you’re not down for.” Mike drawls and Ginny presses a hand against her lips. _This man._ “Never thought that’d happen.”

“You’re a child.”

“You love it.” He quips without thinking and Ginny inhales sharply. She does, is the thing. She does love it and she hates it — hates how she felt more alive with him in two weeks than she did with Trevor in 5 years.

He seems to pick up on her silence and hesitance. “You okay?”

“Fine.” She pauses. “You?”

“Fine.”

(He stays on the line for twenty minutes, not saying anything because even despite the miles between them, he can feel her loneliness through the phone.)

* * *

It comes to a head four months later.

The Cardinals play the Padres and Ginny has never been more fucking scared in her life, sitting in that VIP box. Her wedding ring feels heavier than it ever has as she watches Mike step up to the plate, and from her vantage point she can see the two of them exchanging words.

She shares a glance with Evelyn and it’s from that she doesn’t even see it happen — the quick standing of her husband, the near decking of Mike as he’s punched. Ginny stands up, panic flooding her system as she watches the umpire throw her husband off, watches as the doctors cart Mike Lawson away.

Ginny turns back to Evelyn who merely nods, waving her away and down into the bowels of Busch Stadium. She finds him in the First Aid room, thankfully alone and holding an ice-pack to his eye.

“You’re an idiot.” Ginny sighs, her voice thick with unshed tears. (Christ, she was worried — so fucking worried and it’s been months since she’s seen him, talked to him even. She hadn’t ever been worried for Trevor like she was worried for Mike and that thought alone scares.)

Mike glances up, wincing and shakes his head, much as he can given the ice-pack. “You can’t be here.”

Ginny scowls. “I’m the wife of the catcher — I can be wherever the fuck I wanna be.”

He flinches at the reminder of her relationship status and Ginny curses herself. She should have never gotten involved with him. This was too messy, to complicated, and everything was going wrong.

“Run away with me.” He says out of the blue, bringing the ice-pack down from his face.

Ginny freezes. “What?”

“Run away with me. Divorce him. Move in with me. You like San Diego, more than you like it here.” He swallows roughly. “We could be happy, Ginny.”

“I have a husband Mike.” She says slowly. “I made a _commitment_ to him.”

“You don’t love him.”

“Don’t tell me what I feel.” She cuts across, tone as sharp as the eyeliner that she put on that afternoon.

“You love me.” And the way he says it — with such a stunning clarity, as if he knows it with all his heart, as if he knows without a doubt Ginny Davis loves him more than she’ll ever love her husband. It near takes Ginny’s breath away. “I know you love me, Ginny — I can see it, the way you’re looking at me right now, that’s not the look of someone who doesn’t love someone.”

Her tongue darts out, licking her bottom and she panics. Looking at Mike, battered and bruised but still with love in his eyes…  “I need a plan.” She nods. “Give me a plan. _Show_ me a plan — show me we can do this.”

(Show me that I can do this.)

* * *

“I’m leaving.”

“Okay.” Trevor’s gaze doesn’t even leave the TV. It occurs to Ginny now that in Trevor, she married her father. It was always about the game with the two of them, and while baseball didn’t destroy her marriage — it very near came close. “When and where?”

Ginny steals her nerves, inhales deeply. “Here and now.”

Trevor pauses, his mouth open and beer bottle held halfway to his mouth. He processes and then it seems to click. She’s leaving him.

“Ginnifer…”

She scowls, her chin raising. “It’s Ginny. Ginny Baker.” How long has it been since she’s called herself that — for the longest time she was Ginnifer Davis and honestly… going back to Ginny Baker feels better than anything else ever could.

“We’re done Travis. Have been for a long time. In fact I should have left sooner than I am.” She laughs softly, her hand gripping the shoulder strap of the bag hanging off her shoulder. “My lawyer’ll send over the divorce papers.”

“Ginn - you _can’t_ leave me.” The desperation in his voice causes Ginny to turn, pause and throw him a wicked smirk.

“Watch me.”

* * *

“I have news.” Ginny Baker, soon to be Ginny Lawson in six months, though she supposes they might have to move that date back now, given what’s about to happen.

Mike’s gaze darts up from the book in his hands and he frowns. “Should I be worried?”

She shrugged, pulling her jacket off and dropping it over the back of the couch. “Only that you’re going to lose your man cave.”

“Gin — we’ve been over this.” Mike shook his head, setting the book aside and standing to face her front on. (He’s learnt it’s easier to fight with her when he shows he’s not backing down — it was how he won the pool in the first place.) “You have your room, I have my room. We give either of those rooms up, we’re gonna kill each other.”

Ginny purse her lips. “The baby might kill us if we don’t give them a room.”

“The baby -” Mike starts, frowning heavily as he wonders what the fuck she’s talking about before he cuts himself off suddenly, the lightbulb going off.

Ginny grins.


End file.
